


Devils

by whimseyrhodes



Category: Leverage
Genre: Eliot Spencer Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimseyrhodes/pseuds/whimseyrhodes
Summary: Eliot, Parker and Hardison are captured and meet up with one of Eliot's nasty enemies.





	1. Dance With The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from fanfiction dot net and minor re-writes. May add more chapters if you guys really want ;)

Dance With The Devil

"Eliot! LOOK OUT!" He heard Parker scream at him just before a dart buried itself in his back, between his shoulderblades where he couldn't reach it.

He, Parker and Hardison had been scouting the location of the latest con for Nate, downtown near a 30 story building that housed a trades and security business. They had been in the alley behind the skyscraper when the back of his neck started twitching. Before he'd had a chance to warn the others a black panel van had driven up the alley, blocking one of their escape routes before screeching to a halt. Four burly men had exited, all rushing towards Eliot and diverting his attention from Parker and Hardison. He'd jumped into the fight, knocking two of them down for the count fairly quickly before backing up to protect his team. That's when Parker yelled.

He felt the prick of the needle, and then the rush of heat as the drug was released into his system and he felt himself falling, saw the look of fear on their faces, and then he hit the asphalt with a 'thud'. Darkness swam up to meet him, and he heard a gasp and a yell, and then a soft weight fell on top of his body just before the darkness swallowed him up altogether.

 

"Eliot! Eliot, man, wake up...please be okay.."

When Eliot came to, he was lying on a cold concrete floor. He struggled to open his eyes and he saw the hard surface, pocked with age, grass and dirt showing in the cracks.

"Eliot..." he heard a hiss. "Eliot, wake up!"

The hitter blinked, his eyes focused a little further away and he saw Parker and Hardison sitting in chairs, ropes tied around their ankles and chests, their hands cuffed behind them. Parker's hands had been manacled separately to the chair frame and then duct taped, ensuring that she couldn't make a quick escape. He could tell they had been struggling; sweat ran down their faces and dark welts showed on the skin of Hardison's wrists. He blinked again as he concentrated on his hearing, listening for any other sounds. Wind echoed through the space they were in, and he heard the faint call of gulls and other birds, telling him that they were away from the downtown setting where they had been, probably nearer the river.

"El?" Hardison's lower voice. "Eliot, man, are you okay?"

He didn't respond, his survival instincts kicking in and demanding that he find out all the information that he could before he even twitched. He heard no footsteps, felt no other presences around him, and saw no movement out of the corners of his eyes, so he chanced moving a little. He was lying face-down on the broken concrete, unbound, probably for the intimidation factor since he had obviously been unconscious for longer than the others, and his state had undoubtedly worried them.

He moved his head and heard their sighs of relief as he managed to get to his hands and knees. The room was spinning and he paused to give it time to stop.

"Come on, man," Hardison almost whined. "You can do it, c'mon hulk...hurry..."

Eliot started to growl at the hacker, but the growl died as he looked up and saw his wide eyes, the whites contrasting starkly with the hacker's dark skin. Hardison was terrified.

" 'm tryin'," he managed to say, pushing himself to his feet. One hand met his face, pushing against his eyes to try to clear his head as he wobbled slightly. He shook his head and opened his eyes again, looking at the others but they weren't looking at him. Their gazes were focused behind him, and then he heard the rushing steps.

"Eliot!" Parker screamed as he felt two tiny thuds against his back and a light tingle. The tazer probes didn't penetrate his leather jacket and he whipped around, pulling out the leads easily with a sweep of his arm. Two more came flying at his chest and he dodged again, but they hit him and he jerked with the shock. His other arm was already moving though, expecting this second attack and he managed to step backwards as his arm came down across the wires, his body moving on instinct even as his muscles jerked with the current flowing through them. He dislodged the wires from his chest and could suddenly think again, but he had little time as two men rushed him. Eliot's brain was a little fuzzy, but his body knew the ingrained movements of dodge, block, kick, and punch so well he could do it in his sleep.

One man fell at his feet and he was concentrating on the other when Parker's yells finally penetrated his scattered thoughts.

"Behind you!"

He felt the contacts on his neck and his whole body convulsed when the tazer was activated, holding him upright even as the pain richoched through his spasming muscles. The current locked his joints and prevented him from moving, but all his brain could concentrate on was the white hot agony that spread from his neck to the top of head and down to his toes.

"That's enough," he heard dimly, and the contact was broken and he fell face first onto the floor, his abused muscles still twitching, making him jerk on the concrete.

"Get him over here." Hands on his wrists, and then he was being pulled across the ground, his hips and legs dragging against the concrete. They dropped him and his forehead bounced off the hard ground again. Stars burst against his blurry vision. "Get that jacket off of him." Hands grabbed at him again, jerking his leather jacket off of him and letting his arms fall limply back to the ground.

Cold metal closed around his wrists and he heard the clinking of locks and chains, but his body wouldn't cooperate enough to move. His back arched as he felt himself being jerked upright by his wrists, and the strain of it pulled against already sore muscles. They lifted him by the chain hooked to the manacles until his feet were barely touching the ground.

"Eliot Spencer. Finally," the voice came from behind him, full of evil and hatred.

"Should have known it was you, Dettinger," Eliot rasped. The tall, rail-thin man stepped out from behind him, so close it startled the hitter. He didn't show it though; to show fear to Samuel Dettinger was to invite more.

"I have missed our...talks," the man purred, his strong, narrow fingers grasping Eliot's chin and forcing the hitter to face him. "Very much. So, I arranged our little reunion."

"Could have done without it," Eliot growled. The other man laughed, his foul breath hot in Eliot's face.

"Oh, but I couldn't."

He walked away and nodded at the man Eliot had knocked to the floor earlier. The man walked behind Eliot and just stood there, so close that he could feel the heat from the man's body against his back.

Dettinger turned to Parker and Hardison, who had been silent during the exchange. They glared at the man, sure that what was to come could only be bad for Eliot. "Hmmm, I've never known Eliot to work with others on his jobs, so I can only assume that you are part of the 'team' that I have heard about." He grinned as he paced between Eliot and the others, bound to the chairs about ten feet away from him. "I will let you in on a secret," he said as he grinned darkly at Eliot. "I hate Eliot Spencer."

Eliot watched the faces of his teammates, smiling inwardly as he saw them glare at Dettinger and refuse to be cowed. "Naw...really?" Hardison drawled sarcastically. "Never would'a thunk it."

Dettinger's grin widened at his response. "Yes, actually. I want to watch him die, painfully and slowly, and you two get the pleasure of watching it as well. You see, that is why you have been brought here. You will watch as my men hurt Mr. Spencer, and there will be nothing you can do about it. Oh," he paused, scratching his chin, "Well, there are Moreau's account codes, but..."

"Don't you dare tell him anything!" Eliot screamed at Parker and Hardison. "Don't tell him anything! No matter what!"

"Gag him," Dettinger said dismissively. The man behind Eliot grabbed his hair roughly and jerked his head back even as Eliot kept yelling, demanding that the other two keep silent until a rag was stuffed into his mouth and another tied tightly around his head, pulling his hair painfully as another man secured the knot. Eliot choked and pulled away, glaring at Dettinger, his eyes full of fire.

Dettinger walked up to Eliot then, putting his hand against the hitter's cheek. Eliot jerked away, but Samuel dug his bony fingers into his chin, forcing his head towards Parker and Hardison. "You are going to die," Dettinger hissed into his ear. "And they will watch."

Eliot kicked out at Dettinger, his boot connecting with the man's knee. He watched in small satisfaction as the man pulled back, grimacing in pain and then glaring at him. Eliot's eyes danced. "You bastard," he growled. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a syringe. "You remember our little friend?" he asked as he uncapped the needle. Eliot started to struggle, kicking out but unable to reach him. The man behind him grabbed the hitter around the waist and held him still and the other knelt and grabbed Eliot's legs, holding them tightly so he couldn't kick.

Dettinger walked up to him then, unafraid once Eliot was restrained. "Pancuronium," he said to Parker and Hardison, showing them the syringe. "This fun little drug is a paralytic agent. It will render him unable to move, but still leave him awake, and totally aware. He will feel...everything," The laugh in his voice was barely contained, and the joyful anticipation in the man's eyes as he walked forward made Eliot cringe. He felt the needle slide into his tricep, and then heat as the drug spread through his system. Dettinger stepped back and motioned for his men to release the hitter. They did so quickly, knowing that their boss wanted to see the effects of the paralytic. Eliot pulled against the chains as hard as he could, even knowing that it was useless. The drug quickly took effect, and he felt his knees shake, then buckle and his body dropped, held upright by the chains. His head fell back, his neck unable to support its weight, but his eyes remained open. He felt the gag being removed from his slack mouth, and then Dettinger was there, his fingers threaded into Eliot's hair as he held his head up.

"I will find the next few...hours, maybe days, to be one of the highlights of my life, Eliot Spencer. I will be sad to watch you take your final breath, because it will come too soon for all of the misery you have caused me." He turned to Parker and Hardison. "You could help, you know. Just tell me Moreau's account numbers and I will make it...quicker. Maybe." He let Eliot's head fall back again and nodded at the men before walking over to where a comfortable chair and footstool had been brought. He sat down on the soft cushions and put his feet up on the ottoman and settled back. One of the men brought out a flute of champagne and he took it, sipping slowly.

"You cold hearted bastard," Hardison spat. Dettinger narrowed his eyes at the hacker, holding up one finger as if to scold them. "I don't like to be interrupted," he said softly. Looking at the man behind Eliot, he said, "Get rid of his shirt."

The burly man walked around to the front of the hitter and pulled out a long knife from a sheath on his belt. The light glanced off of the edge of the blade, gleaming in his hand. "Wait," said Dettinger, as he stood.

He walked over to the scene and, almost gently, lifted Eliot's head and propped it between his raised arms. "There, now I can watch your eyes," he whispered. Dettinger retreated to his chair once again and picked up the glass of champagne. "Continue," he waved his hand.

'Burly' grinned as he advanced on Eliot, and Parker whimpered as she bit her bottom lip. Hardison growled in his throat beside her. "It's okay, mama," he whispered under his breath. "It'll be okay."

She watched as the big man carressed Eliot's neck and chest with the blade, seeing the hitter's arms shiver a little with each pass. "How?" she whispered back. "Eliot's the one who gets us out of messes like this...who's gonna get him out of this?"

Hardison shook his head and hesitantly turned back to watch.

Dettinger watched the exchange with pleasure, smiling as he saw the concern for the hitter on their faces and in their words. This was going to be even better than he had imagined. He turned back to the main event and his eyes took in every detail; the sweat beading on Eliot's forehead as he felt the knife glide over his chest, the wariness in his eyes, and he imagined that the hitter knew exactly what was going to happen to him.

Without warning the knife sliced downwards across his chest, ripping through the fabric of the shirt and opening a shallow furrow in Eliot's skin, starting just under his left collarbone and continuing down across his abdomen. Dettinger closed his eyes as he heard the first grunt of pain, smiling as he savored it. He opened his eyes and looked at the redness soaking into the remnants of the t-shirt as it hung from the neckline. Burly gripped the fabric and jerked, ripping the hem and the shreds of the neckline and tossing the rest onto the floor. The tip of the knife glinted red in the light, and he brought it back to Eliot's chest.

"Stop!" Parker cried, unable to keep the words behind her lips.

Dettinger frowned at her, "I told you, I don't like to be interrupted." He stood, setting his champagne on the arm of the chair and walked towards Eliot. He stood in front of the hitter, considering. Burly stood off to one side. "Bring the cart," Dettinger said to him out of the corner of his mouth. He watched as Eliot's eyes narrowed. They had been through this before.

Burly and the other man walked around the corner of a crumbling wall about twenty feet away and came back, wheeling a table height cart over the uneven concrete. There was a cloth over the top hiding the bulges and bumps of items under it. They stopped beside him, and Dettinger bent down, reaching under the tray for something. He brought out a pitcher of water and poured the liquid into a glass. He held it to his nose and sniffed, smiling. He set it on the edge of the table and stepped back to let Burly forward, whispering into his ear. The big man nodded, his cold eyes glinting, and held the knife to Eliot's chest again. He pressed the tip and Dettinger watched in fascination as blood welled up, and then Burly dragged the knife slowly downwards, making a line deeper than the first. Eliot's breath hitched, and Dettinger watched his eyes. They were narrowed, the edges creased with pain as his nostrils flared. His vocal cords were semi-paralyzed, but he was fighting the sounds anyway. He'd be damned if he'd let the man hear his screams.

Dettinger walked back to his chair and sat as Burly pulled the cloth back. The tray sat just a few feet in front of Parker and Hardison, and he saw their eyes go impossibly wide as they saw the array of knives, whips, scalpels and other instruments of torture laid out on the top with loving detail. Burly's hands went over the tools, fingering them gently. His hand paused over a whip, and Parker bit her tongue as he lifted it. The handle was wrapped in black leather, and the thin strand of the whip was about three feet long, ending with a wicked looking metal barb.

Burly walked towards Eliot, the tail of the whip dragging on the ground. Eliot's eyes followed the barb as it hooked into the edges of the concrete, grabbing tufts of grass and dirt and dislodging them from the earth. Soon, he knew, the dirt and grass would be replaced with his own blood and flesh.

He heard the man walk around behind him, and then the whistling of the air as he practiced with the weapon, the tip of the whip coming so close to him that he could feel the rush of wind. He looked forward and saw Samuel sitting in the chair, sipping on his champagne and playing with the edge of the glass, his shining eyes watching Eliot's every reaction. So intent he was on Dettinger that the first lash caught him by surprise, and he jerked, gasping as the barb hooked into his skin and ripped. He clenched his eyes and lips shut to contain the moan that threatened as fire spread across his back.

Parker and Hardison gasped as well, horrified by the droplets of blood that sprayed from Eliot's back and splattered onto the ground. "Stop!" Parker yelled again, crying out against her will. "You bastard!"

"This is nothing compared to what is coming," Dettinger said coldly. He turned back to watch Eliot's body jerking with the force of the whip's lashes, and saw the waistband of his jeans slowly start to turn red with blood. He looked up and saw Eliot biting his lip, his face flinching every time the hook was dragged through the skin and muscles of his back. He heard a low groan come from the hitter's throat and he leaned forward. Metal flashed down by his hip, and Samuel saw that Burly was going lower, slashing the whip against Eliot's sides, the tip wrapping around his side and the barb digging into his abdomen before pulling across. More blood dripped down his skin and into his jeans.

Dettinger met the eyes of the man wielding the whip and he stopped, a little unhappy that his current fun was ended.

Eliot was panting by that time, his breath coming in short gasps. He forced himself to slow his breathing, and he swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. His back burned with agony, and he could feel wetness running down his back in rivulets.

Hardison saw the hitter swallowing convulsively and snarled at the man in the comfortable chair. "Least you can do is give the man some water," he said, motioning with his chin at the crystal carafe of water sitting on the table. Eliot's eyes went wide, and he managed a small, "no..."

Dettinger smiled benevolently. "Water?" he said.

Hardison nodded, his brows drawn low in a frown. "Yeah, man, show a little decency."

"That water?" he pointed at the same pitcher Hardison had indicated.

"Unless you got other water, yeah, that water."

Eliot tried to catch the hacker's eyes, tried to shake his head, but he couldn't. Parker's eyes narrowed. There was something going on, but she couldn't figure it out. She saw Dettinger nod to the man with the whip, and as he picked up the glass with a savage grin, she put the puzzle together.

"NO!" she screamed, but it was too late. The water was already being flung at Eliot's shredded back.

Eliot felt the salt water being thrown into the welts and furrows of his flesh and his body convulsed helplessly, the effects of the pancuronium weakening the seizure, but not the pain. He couldn't stop the raw scream that was ripped from his throat and it echoed in the wide open space. The caustic burning in his back was excruciating, as if a thousand needles were being stabbed into him all at the same time.

"Oh, GOD!" he heard Hardison yell, the panic in his voice clearly evident. "Eliot! Oh my God, I'm sorry! Oh god, I'm SORRY!"

"Please, stop, oh please stop, pleasestoppleasepleaseplease..." Parker's voice was pleading and begging.

Dettinger stood up and walked towards the thief, and her wide eyes followed every movement. He stepped behind her and leaned over; she was torn between watching Eliot's pitiful struggles and turning her head to keep Dettinger in her sight. "You can help end his agony," he said softly into her ear. "Just give me the codes, my dear, and it can stop."

"Don't, Parker!" Hardison blurted out. "You do and he'llkillEliot..." The words tumbled together in his fear, the hacker's attention still riveted on Eliot's trembling body.

Eliot felt himself shaking as the agonizing burn slowly subsided. The sharp pain from the lacerations was still there, but at least the shock of the salt water was beginning to dissipate. He blinked his eyes open and saw Burly standing in front of him with the knife again. As the man watched his eyes open, he drew it down Eliot's cheek, wiping the blood from the blade onto his skin. He grinned as Eliot growled low in his throat, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain. Out of the corner of his eyes the hitter saw Dettinger straighten up and walk over to him. He tried to lift his lips in a snarl, but the drugs prevented it. He settled for growling again.

"Eliot, Eliot," Samuel said, tsking. "Such a shame that they won't help you, isn't it? Just one number, just one account and I'll stop," he ran his hand down Eliot's side, stopping before he touched the blood. "But they don't care. They don't give a damn about you."

"LIAR!" Hardison yelled. "You're a fucking liar!"

Dettinger held out his hand for the knife and Burly set it in his palm. Without turning to the hacker, he said, "I thought I had made it clear that I. Do. Not. Like...Interruptions." The last word was punctuated by a thrust of the knife into Eliot's abdomen, low on his side, just above his right hip. A strangled moan escaped the hitter's throat, and Dettinger looked into Eliot's face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was opened in a shocked gasp, just before the pain hit. He watched as Eliot's eyes filled with agony, a tear escaping the corner and running down his cheek, the only reaction he could make with the drugs still paralyzing him. The hitter gasped, his throat closing for a second before he was able to drag in a wheezing breath.

He looked over at the two who were bound to the chairs, tears rolling freely down their faces. A look of pure hatred filled Hardison's eyes, and Parker was simply shocked, unable to believe what she had just seen. She started to shake as she watched the blood flowing freely around the hilt of the knife that was buried in Eliot's stomach.

Dettinger smiled. He didn't really care that they wouldn't give up the account codes; he had other ways of getting them. No, his pleasure was in finally killing the man who had been such a pain in his ass from the first moment they had met. For years he had planned and salivated over his revenge, and now that it was at hand, he was reveling in it.

He looked down to where his hand held the knife in Eliot's side, and then back at the hitter as he slowly drew it out. Eliot's face contorted in pain, his eyes wider than before, a silent scream on his lips. The agony was so unbearable that he couldn't even make a sound.

Eliot felt the blade being withdrawn and the fire in his stomach doubled. At least when it had first gone in, it was such a shock that he hadn't really felt it right away. Now, though, he felt it. Oh GOD, he felt it. It was like his guts were being stirred up and then pulled out, and he thought that if he was able to look down he'd see his intestines wrapped around the knife. The excruciating pain was all consuming and he heard his breath catch again on a wheeze. Darkness threatened his vision, even though he opened his eyes even wider, and spots danced in front of his eyes. He couldn't focus on anything, and he heard an evil chuckle in his ear. "Hell will welcome you, Spencer," Dettinger whispered, and then he felt nothing more.

Parker watched in horror as Eliot's eyes fluttered shut and his head fell back, and Hardison started muttering, "Naw, man, no, just...just...no, no, Eliot, you can't..."

The corner of Dettinger's mouth turned up in a smile. He nodded to the other man, and he came up behind Burly and set a bag on the table, opening it and pulling out bandages. He placed a thick pad over the wound on Eliot's side and wrapped the bandages around his waist, pulling them tight. They were quickly soaked, and he added more until the bleeding seemed to stop.

Hardison and Parker watched in confusion until Dettinger shrugged and spoke. "I don't want him to die too quickly." His hand snaked to the hitter's neck, his fingers finding a weak pulse. He nodded. "I'll leave you alone with him, and then...then I'll be back to finish what I've started." Dettinger grinned at them and then turned, walking away. The second man followed, leaving Burly standing sentinel over the three of them.

 

Parker and Hardison sat in the hard chairs, watching Eliot closely, their hearts stopping every time his breath hitched or he moaned softly.

"Oh, God, Hardison," Parker whispered under her breath as she watched more blood drip into the puddle beneath Eliot's feet. "What are we gonna do?"

"Nate's working on it, you know he is," he said, praying that it was true. "He'll get us out of here in the knick of time."

"He's already too late," Parker hissed. "Eliot's gonna...He's...He doesn't have much time befo..." She couldn't finish any of her sentences.

Hardison agreed with her, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He had to believe that somehow, somehow, they were going to get out of this. He looked at the hitter's body, the blood crusted on his skin in places, still flowing sluggishly in others. He knew that Eliot didn't have much time left, and even if they were rescued right NOW, it would be a gamble to see if he survived.

Impossibly, he saw Eliot start to stir, but he kept his face from showing his shock, instead burying his expression in sorrow. It wasn't too difficult. He looked at the thief out of the corner of his eyes to see if she had noticed, but her eyes were closed; she was crying silently.

Burly had his back to the hitter, instead watching Parker and Hardison like a hawk. He had been told that the blonde was a thief of exceptional skill, and he was determined that she wouldn't escape on his watch. He didn't hear Eliot behind him, moving slightly.

 

Eliot's heart hammered in his skull, and the ringing in his ears distracted him until he lifted his head. That movement pulled into play the muscles of his abdomen, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp as the pain flared from his stomach and shot down his spine. The drug had worn off, either from time or as a side effect of the excruciating pain, he didn't know and didn't care. He clenched his eyes and lips shut against the scream building in his throat and his hands balled into fists.

When he was finally able to open his eyes again, he saw that only one man was with him and the others. Dettinger and the other man were nowhere to be seen. He knew he had to take the guy out right away and get free somehow before he passed out again. He looked up and nearly shouted in relief. The handcuffs around his wrists were merely draped over a hook suspended by a chain from the ceiling instead of being chained themselves. Sloppy.

He looked at Burly standing in front of him and judged him to be about three feet away, his attention on the two in the chairs. He looked at Hardison, and the dark man nodded minutely, his eyes glancing away almost as soon as he saw that the hitter was awake.

"Hey man, can't you let us go or somethin'?" Hardison started to ramble. "I mean, it's not like we don't appreciate the company or nuthin', but man, you really gotta smile, do somethin', break up the monotony..."

Eliot steeled himself. This was going to hurt like hell, maybe even more than when he had first been stabbed, but he forced his mind into survival mode, where nothing mattered except getting the job done.

When Burly's attention was focused soley on the hacker, Eliot lifted his legs and wrapped them around the man's neck, pulling him off balance. Burly didn't have a chance to defend himself as he fell backwards, Eliot already twisting hard and using the momentum to snap the man's neck. The body fell to the ground with a 'thud' and Parker gasped as she opened her eyes at the sound. She looked at Eliot, stunned that he was not only conscious, but had just managed to kill a man.

Eliot ignored her confusion, instead using his rapidly diminishing reserves of strength to grab onto the hook, climbing fist over fist until the links of the cuffs were free of the hook. Letting himself down, his legs buckled and he fell heavily to the ground, the pain exploding in his side. His back arched and his legs curled up underneath him as he fought to contain his scream. There was no way he'd be able to fight off Dettinger or the other man in his condition, and any loud sounds would bring them in a hurry.

"Eliot!" Hardison yelled, and he forced out "Shut up!" The hacker's mouth snapped shut in shock, and Eliot continued brokenly. "Don't yell...no...no loud ...noises. Don't wanna let'em...know..." His breath came in gasps.

"Eliot, come on, Parker encouraged softly. "You can make it...Just get the key, that's all you have to do."

"You can do it, man," Hardison joined in, his low baritone a comforting rumble.

The need for quiet now established, Eliot struggled to roll onto his left side and he crawled towards Burly's body. He fished in the pockets, thanking God when he pulled the key out of the first pocket. He was sweating now, the moisture burning his eyes as it dripped down his face. He could feel new warmth on his side, and knew that the wound was bleeding again.

"Come on, man," Hardison said, using his voice to ground the injured hitter.

Eliot looked up at him, seeing Hardison and Parker seem to dance as his vision wavered. He clenched his eyes and shook his head, grunting at the movement. His side pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he struggled to move towards Parker.

Parker kept talking to him, watching as he crawled towards her, leaving a wide smear of blood on the concrete. He didn't even stop to unlock his own cuffs, knowing that their, HIS, only chance was to get the key into her hands. She spoke, her voice low and urgent, encouraging when he faltered and trembled. Finally he made it the few feet to the back of her chair, and she felt his shaking hands against hers. He dropped the key into her palm, and she watched in horror as he seemed to deflate, all of the energy he had held onto with his iron will just melting away. His body was curled around her feet, and she took comfort in the feel of his breathing against her legs as she closed her eyes and slipped the key into the lock. A second later the cuffs dropped off and she used the key to rip into the duct tape, ripping it savagely. When her hands were finally freed, she wriggled out from under the ropes around her waist. Bending down she ripped the tape from her ankles and then she was at his side. She cradled his head in her hand, the other going to the bloody bandages around his abdomen.

"Parker," Hardison hissed. "Parker, mama, come on, get me loose and we can get him outta here." His urgent voice broke through her thoughts. She gently laid Eliot's head back down and then jumped up, unlocking the cuffs instantly and releasing his ankles as he squirmed out of the ropes around his chest.

As Parker had, he knelt next to Eliot, his hand going to the hitter's neck. He found a weak pulse and closed his eyes in relief.

"Okay, okay, okay okay..." Hardison mumbled. "We gotta get a car or somthin', gotta get him outta here, away from this bastard, get him back to Nate's," Hardison's stream of consciousness rambling helped to focus him. He looked around the hanger that they were in and noticed that the huge building had open doors at either end, with offices lining one side. The lights were on in one of them, indicating that the other men were in that room. At the other end were a couple of vehicles. He grinned.

He looked over at the thief and saw that she had Eliot's head in her hands again, carressing his cheek and murmuring in his ear. His eyes were slightly open but unfocused, and Hardison wasn't sure if the hitter knew what was going on. Hardison looked down Eliot's chest to where the bandages were, and he grimaced. Blood was starting to flow out from under the soaked dressings and he got up, grabbing the bag that Dettinger's man had left on the cart, studiously ignoring the rest of the contents of the table. He pulled out more gauze pads and pressed them against Eliot's stomach, wincing as the hitter groaned in the back of his throat and arched his back, trying to get away from the pain. His hands fumbled at Hardison's, but he couldn't coordinate them enough to actually grab at the hacker's hands.

"Parker, Parker," he said, trying to get her attention. "Parker," he grabbed one of her wrists. "Go get one of those cars," he nodded at the vehicles at the end of the hanger. "Get one, drive it over here and I'll get Eliot into it. You gotta be ready to get him out of here, even...even if I ain't able to get in the car too."

"No...no!" she said urgently, grabbing the front of his shirt. "All of us, together," she insisted. He nodded, "I'll try, girl, I'll try." He pushed her a little, "now GO!"

She took one last look at Eliot, bending down to kiss his lips. Then she kicked off her shoes and launched herself into a low run, dashing silently across the concrete to the cars. Hardison turned back to Eliot, wrapping yet more bandages around his stomach. He stuffed more of the gauze into his pockets, then eased his arm behind Eliot's shoulders and lifted him up a little, the hitter's head resting in the crook of his arm.

"Eliot, man, hey, El, open them baby blues," he said, shaking the hitter a little until his eyes started to focus. He looked blearily at Hardison.

"...mmm...?" His response was a weak moan.

"Parker's gettin us a car, man, we gotta be ready to go in a second." Hardison's urgent voice penetrated the fog around Eliot's brain, and he forced himself to wake so he would be ready for one last, desperate move. He swallowed and nodded. "...kay," he rasped.

Hardison looked up and saw Parker behind the wheel of one of the cars and he nodded at her. She worked her magic and started the car the way only Parker knew how and dropped it into gear, barreling towards them. At the last second she pulled the wheel and the car slewed to one side, the back door directly next to Hardison and Eliot. She reached back and opened it, yelling, "HURRY!"

Hardison heard shouts and yells from the office, and muttered "sorry!" to Eliot as he stood and hauled the hitter to his feet, his hands under Eliot's arms. Eliot gave in then and screamed, the pain arcing down his side. He felt Hardison damn near throw him into the back seat and dive into the car on top of him, and then Parker gunned it and punched the car through the chairs they had just been sitting in, the door slamming shut from the momentum.

Eliot lay on the seat with Hardison braced above him as Parker swerved, aiming for the two men who had come running out of the office. They heard a yell and felt a thump as the wheels went over something, and then they were on their way out of the building, racing against the clock to get back to Nate's and safety.


	2. The Devil Don't Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker and Hardison bring Eliot home.

The Devil Don’t Change

 

Eliot struggled to remain conscious throughout the ride, feeling the seat underneath him growing wetter and warmer as it became soaked with his blood. Many of the lacerations had reopened in the 'controlled fall' into the car when Hardison had thrown him in and then jumped in himself.

Hardison hovered over him now, his constant babbling something of a comfort, something for Eliot to hold onto while Parker screamed at other cars, yanking the wheel to go around drivers that she deemed too slow.

"Hey, hey, HEY! Stop doin' that, Parker! Stop drivin' crazy! He's in enough pain the way it is without ya throwing him all over the place back here!" Hardison had seen Eliot’s widening eyes, his clenched teeth, heard his groans whenever she jerked the wheel. Hardison held one hand on the side of the hitter’s face and the other covered Eliot’s hand, which had the back of the seat in a white-knuckled death grip.

"Sorry! Oh God, Eliot, I'm sorry!" he heard from the front seat, her voice full of regret that made him want to convince her that he was alright, that he was fine, and that the day she drove normally really would be the day he died, but the words were caught behind the screams and he wouldn't let them out. Not here, not with these two. Because if he did, they would think he was broken, and if they thought that, they wouldn't let him protect them anymore, wouldn't let him do for them what he was so very good at, and that would be the beginning of the end for him. So he bit his tongue on the pain and thought of other things.

"It's alright, Eliot, it's alright. You gonna be fine, you know it, we all know it. You gonna be fine, grouchin' and bellyachin' in no time, getting' all het up cause we drank your last beer or somethin'." Hardison's rambling ran over him like a blanket, the voice, worried though it was, an anchor against the agony Dettinger had laced across his back and shoved into his gut.

The car evened out, but Parker's impatient yelling at the cars in front of her did not. That, too, was a curious anchor, something he could distract himself with when the fire shot through him because of a pothole that she couldn't avoid or a stray muscle twitch that tried to remind him that, 'Hello, something's wrong here...'.

'Ya think?' he answered himself automatically, inwardly rolling his eyes at himself for having a conversation with his own body, but hey, it wasn't like it had never happened before, in places and situations that he really didn't want to think about, thank you very much now go away.

His thoughts were beginning to disconnect when the car slowed, easing to a stop in such a way as to let him know that Parker was very worried indeed. She escaped the driver's seat and the back door above his head opened, her head appearing upside down in front of him. Her hair fell onto his face and he stared at the glittering goldness of it, thinking it fitting that her hair was made from strands of the same stuff that fascinated her so.

His attention was riveted to the locks of her hair that moved gently with each breath he made, softly undulating as he exhaled, only to return teasingly to the same spot as before as if daring him to blow them away again.

Hands, more hands on him, on his legs, his arms, his stomach and he gasped, clenching his teeth as the gold pulled away from his sight, replaced by another face, another frown. Brown eyes this time instead of blue, brown hair instead of gold.

Nate?

Voices babbled on the edge of his hearing but he couldn't decipher them as they ran into his brain and then out again without leaving any impressions of meaning.

The pain, which had been at a remove, chose this as a good time to come back and assault him, uncaring that Eliot did, in fact, not think that it was a good idea to come back, now or at any point in the future. A moan escaped his mouth as the hands moved him, sitting him up in the car. He grabbed onto whatever was in his hands and squeezed, ignoring the gasps as his fingers clenched down on flesh. Then they were moving him again, jostling to get him into position, arms pulling his over shoulders, more hands on his waist.

"Sophie, get the elevator," Nate gasped as they finally got the hitter out of the car. He wanted her away from them for the moment, away from the sight of the blood soaked backseat, the dark stains on the upholstery where Eliot had laid, his bloody handprints now forever imbedded into the fabric of a car that they would pay anything to destroy.

Hardison and Nate walked towards the elevator slowly, Eliot stumbling along with them, his gasps and grunts hard to listen to. Parker walked closely behind them. Nate didn't know what she was thinking, but he had seen her looking at Eliot's shredded back, at his swollen and blood crusted skin. They entered the lift and then she was right in front of them, her hands snaking up to Eliot's head, resting on either side of his face. Bleary eyes looked up at her from under heavy lids and neither of them said a word, but there was an entire history of information passed between the two in the few moments it took for the elevator to rise and stop at their floor to disgorge its passengers.

Sophie poked her head out to make sure there were no observers and announced the hallway clear. She went before them and opened Nate's apartment door, holding it for them as they dragged Eliot through and then closing it just as fast.

Between them they got Eliot into the spare bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed while Sophie ran for towels and first aid supplies. Parker bent down, untying Eliot's boots and removing them and his socks, standing just as Sophie made a reappearance. They put the soft terrycloth on the bed behind Eliot and Nate leaned the hitter back, Hardison supporting his head until he was flat on the bed. Unconcerned for modesty Parker unbuckled Eliot's belt and her nimble fingers had unfastened his jeans before Hardison nudged her away, finishing the job of ridding the hitter of the blood soaked denim.

Eliot’s bright blue eyes opened and shut, only to repeat the action seconds later with no more success. Using the towels to reposition him, they moved him so he was stretched out on the mattress. During the move he showed no more response than his uncoordinated blinking.

Nate cut the bandages from his abdomen, peeling back layer after layer until he got to the last, and then had to soak that one away. Using sterile water he washed the wound, taking his time so that it didn't reopen. It was an ugly gash, the edges of the wound red and swollen, and he reached into the first aid bag for the suture kit.

When the last knot was tied off he handed the needle to Sophie, who took it to the bathroom to clean and re-sterilize it. He wiped a shaking hand across his forehead as Hardison applied the dressing, taping it securely. Sophie returned, and together they log-rolled Eliot onto his left side.

Sophie caught sight of Eliot's back for the first time and her gasp was loud in the otherwise silent room. Nate looked over at her, her hand against her mouth, eyes wide. At his glance she swallowed hard, and nodded, removing her fist.

"I'm alright. I can do this,” she whispered.

He nodded, and they continued.

By the time they had gotten Eliot stitched and clean of most of the blood, they had destroyed five towels and fourteen cloths, used 73 stitches, four bottles of sterile saline and two of alcohol to clean and close the wounds. But they weren't counting that.

Not as long as they still had one hitter, alive, and on his way to well.


End file.
